A Creature of Duty
by Lasso the Moon
Summary: "Goodbye, Mary. My darling Mary.." he sighed as he memorized her face, her eyes, for the comfort of his dreams. "My prayers go with you for everything you do." A S4 Episode 4 oneshot.


He had been half-afraid that she would have laughed at him. In hindsight it sounded like something out of a bad penny novel—the besotted childhood friend jumping on a train and hiding in third class ( third class! ) then getting off and declaring his undying love for fair lady before promptly asking her to marry him, never mind that they had not so much has seen each other in twenty years at least. Mary—dear Mary, the voice of reason—kindly reminded him of this, but Tony wasn't finished pleading his case. He would wait, truly, if she would have him. He knew how ridiculous it must sound, especially with her being widowed. He couldn't imagine how she was feeling, but he knew that the death of the splendid chap ( and he must have been splendid to have earned her love ) that had married her had broken her. He had seen it in her eyes, in her whole demeanor when she saw the gramophone that played as they danced in the hall at the dinner party mere days ago.

And he realized then that he wanted to be the one to help pick up the pieces.

So he had asked her to give him the chance to make her happy—because he knew that this was love, and since _he_ loved _her_, they had a chance, didn't they? He couldn't pretend to be Matthew Crawley—and she knew that as well. He could only be simply Tony Foyle, a man that was clearly crazy about Lady Mary Crawley and wasn't afraid to tell her.

But Tony Foyle wasn't good enough. He kept his face passive, the only sign of the pain that hit him in pinpricks and then at full force evident in his eyes as she gave her answer. His face never wavered because he saw that she was trying to be strong as well, but her voice faltered, and she was fighting back tears as she repeated the words he'd uttered yesterday, comparing what he felt for her to what she felt for Matthew. So that was that, then. He found enough sense to nod before tearing his eyes away, his eyes roaming the vast estate they had roamed across as children, with her always trying to cut in on his and Patrick's games. How ironic that he had been longing to get rid of her then, and now…now he couldn't be without her.

He didn't understand it. He hadn't meant for this to happen, truly. He had only wanted to catch up after so many years and against his will he found himself falling into the unknown—into love—and having all he had ever wanted within his reach in a matter of days. A great love, like in the fairy tales his father would read him.

He would have to make the best of it. He was lucky to have Mabel, truly, and perhaps he could love her, if given enough time—but not like this. Never like this. Never in the sweeping, consuming, inexplicable way that he did Mary Crawley, this brave, fascinating woman that he may not have _known_ in the long gap that had separated them, but that he wanted to know—for he was sure that the more he knew, the deeper he would fall in love.

"Can I ask one favor?" He was surprised that he was able to find his voice, but he did, and it didn't shake. Perhaps she was rubbing off on him. "And then I really will go and leave you in peace," he promised earnestly, forcing his eyes upward to meet hers.

"What is it?"

"Will you kiss me?" He knew that she was going to protest so he added quickly, "Please, I will never love again as I love you in this moment. And I must have something to remember." Something to give him the strength he needed to embrace duty—enough to say that he _had_ loved, and he _knew_ what love was like…

There was an apparent struggle on Mary's face after he had voiced his question, and he didn't move—not until silent assent flickered in her eyes and he stepped forward, his arms curling around her as their lips met. There was no triumph, no jubilation—not really. If there was, it was temporary. He wouldn't allow himself to feel it too deeply because it would wither away, blow away like shifting sands. It was a goodbye, which was all he had needed. Still, it was a piece of heaven that he would carry with him for as long as he lived.

They broke apart, and he wouldn't attempt to know what she must have been thinking throughout it. "Goodbye, Mary. My darling Mary.." he sighed as he memorized her face, her eyes, for the comfort of his dreams. "My prayers go with you for everything you do." He knew that she would have her estate—she, unlike him, was a fighter, a warrior—relentless. He would play into the system, become a puppet, do what was expected of him—but she would not. She would make her family proud on her own terms, but Tony Foyle only knew how to play someone else's game, never his own. He offered her one last quick smile before turning his back and starting the hike back up to the house, resigned to his fate as a creature of duty.


End file.
